Emidio sits across from Joe, swirling a half-empty cup of coffee, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
“Joe, I’m tellin’ you—Alec Baldwin is the greatest film actor in the world. Nobody touches him. The presence, the voice, the command—he walks into a room, and everyone listens.”
Joe smirks, knowing exactly where this is going.
“It’s the brass balls, Joe. The confidence. That’s what I need. Selling real estate isn’t just about contracts and square footage—it’s improvisation. It’s knowing when to push, when to pull back. And who’s better at that than actors? They can read a room, shift gears, make you believe anything. That’s what Baldwin did in Glengarry Glen Ross—he made them believe.”
Emidio leans forward, intensity burning in his eyes.
“I need that kind of power, Joe. I need Baldwin-level balls of brass. I can’t just be another guy pushing papers—I gotta close. Because you know what they say: ‘Always Be Closing.’”
Joe claps a hand on Emidio’s shoulder, steady and firm.
“You can do it, Emidio. You will do it. You’re already halfway there—now go out there and close. You want brass in your pocket? Earn it. You wanna be Baldwin? Then step onto the stage and own it.”
Emidio exhales, nods, and stands up a little taller.
“Damn right, Joe. It’s my time. No more second place—I’m making the sale.”
